Black Blood (Series of Blood Book 4)

by Emma Hamm

  Lydia furrowed her brow, glancing up at where a face should be. E remained flat and quiet.

  Stepping up to the blanket of sand, she ran her fingers over its edge. Something held E together. She couldn’t even get it to bend.

  “How do I look?”

  “With your eyes.”

  Unimpressed, she frowned at it. “I see too much of Pitch in you.”

  “Personalities like his come from a culmination of many years. I have suffered the same fate.”

  “Sarcasm does not come from experience, it’s a learned trait.”

  E chuckled. “You may be correct.”

  She stooped, peering at the grains of sand. There were too many to count, and even then too many to see. They were all the same size. Each a perfect tiny black pearl, completely hidden from the naked eye.

  Lydia held her breath as she stared as though that might help. Not even the slightest of budge reacted inside E. The many lives it held were carefully protected.

  Huffing in frustration, she leaned back. “If I had a magnifying glass, I might sort through these. But it would take thousands of years for me to see every part of you.”

  “As it would for me to look through every piece of you.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You want to find a reflection of yourself in something equally powerful, but you forget that there are immeasurable intricacies in every life. Be that powerful or not. I am made of a million grains of sand, each a single life. I do not look at one life as more powerful or more treasured as any other. Human, Fae, God. We are all the same in the end.”

  “How so?”

  “We all feel. We all experience different things. We all have millions of memories that make up who we are. No person is simple to understand.” The blanket of darkness folded in on itself until E was once more the swirling vortex. “You have traveled very far, powerful one, to learn a very simple lesson. You are in everything. Just as everything is in you.”

  She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, her heart stopped beating. Everything suddenly clicked into place. Of course this was what she had been looking for. She wanted to make sure Wren was all right, but she didn’t need to apologize. The life she had saved wasn’t greater in worth than the others she had lost.

  What had to be, had to be.

  “Thank you, E.”

  “You are most welcome.”

  Lydia licked her lips, hesitating. “Do… Do you recognize me? It’s a strange question, I know, it’s just that was the perfect answer when I didn’t know how I was feeling. How did you?”

  The swirls paused, a face stretching through the darkness. It was made mostly of leaves, the spiking edges framing an eerily familiar expression of mirth. “I recognize the taste of old magic. Long ago, you and I had many a conversation I cherish to this day.”

  “Green Man,” she whispered. “The oak trees mourned your death for centuries.”

  “They sang the old songs then?”

  “The mountains trembled, and the earth shook when they raised their voices for you.”

  The ancient Ent nodded sagely. “Then it was a good death.”

  The dream shook, their bubble of safety shifting as another person joined them. E frowned and turned, but seemed to shrug when it saw Burke materialize next to Wren.

  “They are happy,” E spoke with the voice of thousands again. “Despite all they have been through, they are happy.”

  She blinked through tears. Burke walked down the dock of Wren’s made up bridge. He smoothed a hand over her shoulder, leaning down to whisper something in her ear. Wren tossed her head back in laughter while sunlight caressed her face.

  They were the picture of happiness. No worries marred their relationship, no stress that they could not disappear from. Somehow, some way, it didn’t matter that Lydia had messed up.

  She sighed. “I suppose that’s all I was really looking for.”

  “I’m glad you found what you came for. Now I will ask you to leave.”

  “Really?”

  “If you can leave. I’m uncertain how to advise you to go back. I have many Dream Walkers inside of me, but I have never seen a dream be destroyed before.”

  Lydia shrugged, a soft smile curving her lips. “I think I’ll be all right. Thank you, again. It was lovely to meet you, E.”

  “The pleasure was all mine.”

  She watched E turn and float toward the couple. Burke settled on the dock next to Wren and rolled his pant legs up to dip in the water. Funny, a flash of Time whispered in her mind that there might be fish which would bite him in those waters.

  This was happiness. Even though the guilt of hundreds of deaths that would happen rode on her shoulders, they were happy. That had to count for something.

  She walked out of the dream and stepped carefully onto her own. The molten bridge shimmered beneath her feet. It stretched and warped into a bubble once more. In the center, she smiled and lifted her arms to the violet sky.

  It was time to wake up.

  The front door slammed so hard the walls shook. Lydia jumped to her feet, eyes still foggy from blindness.

  “Pitch?” she called.

  A barrage of curses was her answer although the voice was distinctly familiar. Apparently, something had happened while Pitch was visiting their prophetic chosen. He had felt something was off, to the point where he asked her walk down the future to make sure.

  She didn’t like telling him everything. He was worrying too much, not eating, having difficulties paying attention, faking sleep until he thought she drifted off and then rising to pace. Lydia was concerned he would fall ill.

  He couldn’t fall ill.

  Hands on the walls as guidance, Lydia wandered. Her steps were measured and calm. That was how she always had to be around him. Measured and calm.

  It was extremely difficult sometimes to be the light to his dark. Especially when she wanted to fall apart, but he was already there. Pitch was fracturing before her eyes.

  Case in point, she could see the darkness of his power billowing around him like a great cloak made of the night sky. He hopped on one foot to the piano, cursing so viciously that she wasn’t certain she even understood some of the words.

  “Are you all right?” she asked.

  “Does it look like I’m all right?”

  “No need to growl.”

  “It’s my house! I’ll growl if I want to.”

  She huffed, making her way to his side by grabbing into furniture. “Now that’s funny, I thought you said it was my house. Which means I can also tell you to not growl.”

  The piano groaned as he jerked himself on top of it. The keys rang loud in angry dissonance. “You are going to be the death of me woman.”

  “I don’t think I was the reason you were cursing.”

  “No, but all women are going to be the death of me.”

  Lydia could hear a dripping sound. Her brow furrowed as she stared hard, trying to bring him into focus. Was that black splashed across his foot? Why were his feet bare to begin with?

  “Pitch,” she began. “Are you bleeding?”

  “Yes!”

  “Why?”

  “I tried to do a nice thing for someone, and this is what I get. Why do I even try with these people anymore? They are bound and determined to not trust me. Even the creatures I created don’t believe that I’m assisting them. And then when I try to help, all I get in response is a Siren trying to kill me, and broken glass in my foot!”

  So he had visited Lyra then. The Siren had a hot temper, and she wasn’t surprised that there had been a skirmish. It was high praise that Lyra had harmed Pitch. Few people could add that accolade to their accomplishments.

  Lydia smiled. “Ah. So you are bitter because you were beaten by a girl.”

  “No,” he grumbled. “I’m bitter because she had to hit me before she let me hug her. It’s ridiculous! You women make no sense.”

  “We really don’t.”

  She settled onto her knees and
cupped his foot in her hands, running her fingers as gently as possible over the wounds. Black slicked her hands faster than she expected.

  “Ow!”

  “You have more than one piece of glass stuck in your foot.”

  “Does the number really matter? I’m hurt!”

  “And you’re a bear when you’re hurt,” she muttered. “Hold still.”

  “I don’t want to.” He tried to jerk his foot out of her grasp, but her hands held him firmly in place.

  “Stop moving.”

  “No, you’re hurting me.”

  “You’re already hurt, I can’t make it worse.”

  “You can dig it into my foot so far we can’t get it out! Let go, Lydia!”

  “Pitch, for god’s sake!” She slapped his calf. “Stop moving you giant baby and let me help you!”

  He huffed out a breath, but stilled in her hands.

  “Men,” she muttered. “You’re big and strong until you get hurt, and then it’s all downhill from there. What did you do, grind your foot into shards of glass to prove your masculinity?”

  “Actually, I was standing in said glass while a Siren cried on my shoulder.”

  “Oh.” Lydia furrowed her brows, wiggling out each piece of glass she could feel. “That’s actually very sweet of you. How is she?”

  “She’s been better.”

  “I’m not surprised by that, she’s been going through a lot.”

  It was strange to talk about them as though she knew them. In Lydia’s mind, she did. Whenever Pitch wasn’t here, she walked down their past and present lines. Lydia liked to see what they were doing. She liked to listen to their stories, to sit on the couch with them and laugh as they drank beer and reminisced of old battles.

  They were a tight knit group, something she missed very much. They reminded her of her friends. The laughter they shared, the support, the love even when they were poking fun at each other.

  She couldn’t have that now. There was too much to do, but she could at least linger in the shadows. It made her feel as though she was part of something and not just the puppeteer pulling the strings.

  “It’s kind of you to look after them,” she said. “Not many people would do that. They’re capable of finding each other without our interference.”

  “But not soon enough to change the timeline.”

  “We don’t know that. I can’t see that far into my future.”

  “No, but we have a hunch.” His toes wiggled in her grasp.

  “Stop moving, Pitch. I’m just saying, it’s good of you to spend so much time with them. Even if they don’t appreciate it, I see what you’ve done for them.”

  Her concentration poured into searching out the tiniest specks of glass, so she started when he touched the top of her head. His fingers traced the outline of her horns, gliding down their smooth length to stroke her soft white hair.

  “You are too good for me.”

  “You keep telling me that and I’m going to believe it,” she murmured. “Ah hah!”

  She pulled out the last tiny piece of glass and tossed it to the floor. Her fingers stuck together as the blood dried, black smears staining her leggings. A pair of leggings was nothing compared to the satisfaction of knowing she had helped in some way.

  “Did you get it all?” he asked.

  “I think so.” She cupped her hand over his foot once more, stretching her mind to sense any foreign objects inside him. Another spark of knowledge peered through the folds of her mind. Something about heat.

  Not heat like a desert. A soft heat. The flutter of emotion when a butterfly kiss was received. The feeling of warmth when he looked at her with his lips quirked to the side.

  She trailed her finger down the arch of his foot. Black blood disappeared, leaving in its wake smooth, unmarred skin.

  “Lydia?” he asked.

  “Yes?”

  “I didn’t know you could do that.”

  “Neither did I,” she released her hold on him. “I guess it’s just something I remembered.”

  “Sil couldn’t do that.”

  “Maybe she could. Or maybe she had simply seen someone else do it, or knew how to do it in practice but had never tried. I don’t know how I know these things, Pitch. I just do.”

  “Sometimes you scare me, moonbeam.”

  “I scare myself most days,” she said while standing. Lydia stooped to dust her knees although all she managed was to smear more blood on herself. “I’ll need to shower after this.”

  “Lydia…” he paused.

  She glanced at him. Or at least, she glanced at the impression of him. Her eyes had yet to return to normal. All she could see was the dangerous swirl of magic, the agitated way his shadows were stretching to taste the air.

  He was at once a many-tentacled monster who held galaxies within him. A creature, otherworldly and oh so dangerous. Just the sight of him made her sigh.

  “What is it, Pitch?”

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. What are we going to do about Lyra?”

  “I thought you said we should stay away from them? Let them carve their own path?”

  Lydia’s lips twisted into a wry grin. “You aren’t the only one who wants to guide our dear friends. What was she upset about anyway?”

  He jumped from the edge of the piano, his feet padding silently on the wooden floors. “Oh, a man.”

  “A man?”

  “A man you chose a long time ago.” His arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her to him.

  She pressed her hands against his chest, leaning closer so she could see his expression. “Wolfgang?”

  “One and the same.”

  “She’s found him so soon?”

  “And found herself quite enamored with him, although I don’t think she knows it yet. That debt is weighing on her shoulders so much she can’t even see her own emotions.”

  “Now that sounds familiar.”

  “Are you talking about me?”

  “I wouldn’t dare,” Lydia hid her face against his shoulder so he wouldn’t see her grin. “So she’s in love with our resident Graverobber. How intriguing.”

  “Did you see that one coming?”

  She didn’t want to ruin his secret. Of course she had seen them together. They were her favorite couple mostly because Wolfgang deserved someone who would love him. Even if it was secret. Lyra might be a vain and selfish animal, but she would tear anyone apart who dared insult him.

  “No, I didn’t at all.”

  A shadow tasted the air in front of her, sliding up her cheek to leave a tingle of electricity. Pitch chuckled. “I know you’re lying to me.”

  “I would never.”

  He swayed back and forth, his arms gentle as he guided her into a simple dance. “Wouldn’t you?”

  “Maybe a little bit. But only a white lie.”

  “I think you are only capable of light things, m’lady.”

  “M’lady?” She tossed her head back in laughter. “What century did you step out of? Where did you put my growling angry phantom?”

  “Are you paying attention at all?”

  Lydia stepped forward, placing her feet on top of his so she wouldn’t trip. “We’re talking about Wren.”

  “And how we’re planning to help her.”

  “Why are you so set on talking about her?”

  “I can’t get her out of my head. There’s something tragic about a strong woman crying. I don’t like it.”

  Her heart throbbed. “Hold me up, I’ll take a peek.”

  “You’ve been exhausting yourself far more than you need to.”

  “I won't change any threads, I’m just going to look at her past. There might be something, you never know.”

  She felt his arms tighten around her waist and allowed herself to drift. The longer she stayed wrapped in the comfortable presence of Time, the less real she felt. It was almost too easy to detach from her body. Her mind could float along the lines and experience life witho
ut ever having to make the difficult choices herself.

  Lyra’s thread tasted like salt water and a soft spray of ocean misted across Lydia’s senses. There was a certain calm quality to such a thread although Lyra was not a calm person herself. But Lydia preferred her thread over all others connected to their prophecy.

  She plucked through the history as though she were playing a harp. Tiny details were easily ignored, but people were not. There was one person in particular who seemed consistent in Lyra’s life, to the point of even being in her thoughts.

  “Bones,” Lydia murmured.

  “We’re digging someone up?”

  “No, it’s a person’s name. Do you recognize it?”

  “The man from the Black Market? He’s a dangerous one to be involved with. What has he got to do with Lyra?”

  “He helped raise her, strange as it is.” Lydia blinked her eyes open. The colors of the room had faded with the overuse of her power. “He taught her everything she knows and considers himself to be something of a father figure. An overbearing one who chased her away, but a father nonetheless.”

  “Would he help her?”

  “There’s really no way of knowing unless I pull the threads.”

  “You aren’t doing that for a while. You’re too weak, Lydia!”

  “Then there isn’t any way to know unless we try.”

  He glowered down at her. “You don’t even have a guess?”

  “Would I have suggested it if I thought it wouldn’t work?”

  This man would be the end of her. She simultaneously wanted to hit him upside the head and yank him down to kiss. One of these days, she would do both at the same time just to see what would happen.

  Pitch grumbled. “We’re quarreling like an old married couple.”

  “Just like we were meant to.”

  “Bones is dangerous. I’m going to say that a few times to drill it through your stubborn skull. Bones is a very dangerous man with skills few people fully understand. By bringing him into this mess, we might end up stirring the pot a little too much.”

  “Oh it’s not like we’re asking him to move in, we’re just asking him to dinner.”

  She didn’t need to see his face to know his eyebrows had shot up.

  Pitch stammered, “To dinner?”